Loves Me Not
by Guinevere McAdam
Summary: Two days before Emily and Naomi leave Bristol for Mexico, Cook shows up and decides to give Emily a surprise going away party that yields some unexpected results! Will Emily be able to keep her secret from Naomi? Will everything go up in flames? Or will she find love in an unexpected source? Rated M for sex and drug usage, all that Skins stuff.
1. Chapter 1: Emilly

Two days. Two days until Emily and Naomi left for Mexico together, and Emily still wasn't allowed to meet Naomi's aunt. Pauline. Gina, Naomi's mother, had explained to the redhead that when it came to lifestyles, she and her sister were more different than Emily and Katie. Emily had found this hard to believe, but had acquiesced to Gina's wishes and had stayed in Bristol while the Campbells travelled to London for the weekend. On Monday morning, bright and Early, Emily would wake up beside Naomi and shortly thereafter they would board a plane that would take them far away from Bristol's most recent drama- Freddie's coma.

Truthfully, Emily couldn't stand to see other people upset, and so she was glad for the opportunity to get away for a while, even if leaving everybody in the midst of such tragedy did make her feel kind of lousy.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her long hair and looked around. She was watching Gina's house, and surprisingly she was alone, as Gina had asked her friends politely to clear out for the weekend, having sensed Emily's blooming discomfort in the communal environment without Naomi around. It was still weird, though, being by herself in an empty house.

No sooner had the words crossed her mind, a knock on the door jarred Emily out of her thoughts. She stood and headed downstairs when the knock sounded again, this time much more frantic.

"Hello?" Emily called out nervously, seeing a shadow move in the window by the door. "Who's there?"

"Emilio Lezztavez, open up!" came a sing-song-y voice from the other side of the door. "I see you r bike out here!" Her eyes widened; the nickname was familiar, the voice calling her by it even more so. Emily rushed to the door and opened it to find a fairly arseholed James Cook standing on the front step with a pack of beers tucked securely beneath one arm.

"What the fuck?" was all Emily could manage as Cook easily brushed past her and stepped inside, dropping his tattered coat onto the floor by the door and setting the beer down beside it. He smiled at her, and Emily licked her lips nervously. "Cook… shouldn't you have gone back to jail by now?" she asked tentatively. Cook grinned.

"Sodding pissants can't hold me for very long!" he said with a grin, opening his arms. "Now, come give the Cookie Monster a hug, eh?" he asked, laughing. Emily obliged and hugged him, both because she had missed him since the party in Freddie's shed and because she didn't want him to fall over and hurt himself. "Where's Naoms?" he asked, patting her on the top of the head before releasing her and plunking down onto the battered sofa.

"She had to go see some family in London before we leave." She explained. Cook looked confused, then the look subsided and h e nodded, grabbing a beer out of the 12-pack he'd brought.

"Right. Mexico." The boy said with a smirk, popping the can open and taking a large swig. He swallowed. "And she left you all alone here for the weekend?" he asked, suddenly looking concerned.

"Her aunt doesn't know she's gay." Emily muttered, sitting down next to Cook and cracking open a beer for herself. She took a drink and made a face- it was astoundingly bitter. "And I didn't want to pretend to be just friends." She said after a moment, her voice nearly as bitter as the beer. To her, it felt like a part of Naomi was still hiding,, and Emily wasn't sure if that part would ever stop.

Cook must have sensed her frustration because he patted her shoulder, giving her a small smile. "It's okay, Emilio. At least you got the girl…" he trailed off, and Emily could hear a faint tinge of sadness in his words. It was true, even though Freddie was in the hospital Effy was there, day and night, watching over him. She had even stopped partying as much with the group, instead electing to spend her time playing Scrabble with Karen, the two young women hoping against all hope that Freddie would eventually wake up. Even though he wasn't conscious of anything, Freddie still had Effy, and Cook had… well, Cook had beer, Emily thought morosely.

"So… what are you doing, out and about still?" she asked him in an attempt to change the subject. She really couldn't stand to see anyone upset, least of all Cook, who was one of the most high-spirited people she knew. And besides, she really was curious as to how he had managed to avoid staying locked up. Cook grinned his signature grin.

"Oh, you know ol' Cookie, eh? Just looking for a good time." He said. "Doesn't look like you're having too good a time here, by yourself." He pointedly glanced at Emily. "So come on, Ems, what d'ya say we throw you a little going away party?" he asked, leaning forward. He patted her knee. "Let's go out, drinks are on me. I think we both could use some cheering up." Cook added the last sentence after Emily had bit her lip, unsure. When she looked into his eyes and saw a sudden flash of the sadness that lay beyond the longing for fun, Emily couldn't refuse.

"Okay, let me go get dressed." She said, standing up and gesturing at the old jeans, tank top, and comfortable flannel shirt she was wearing. Cook looked her up and down.

"What're you talking about, you look fine. If you weren't a lezzer I'd shag you senseless." His words took Emily by surprise and she felt herself blush slightly, but she rolled her eyes at him anyway and shrugged.

"Not like I'm dressing to impress anyone, anyway." She finally stated, more to herself than to Cook. She caught herselfwishing Naomi had been there and decided that Cook was right; she really did need to get out of the house, at least for a few hours. "Fuck it, you're right, I'll just go as is."

"Oi now, that's the spirit!" Cook exclaimed, jumping up and hugging her again. "Let's just go have a great time and forget about all our troubles!" he downed the last of his beer in one fell swoop and tossed the can onto the floor, picking Emily up and spinning her. Emily laughed, she'd worry about the beer can on the floor later. The night was young, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to say good-bye to Bristol in a proper fashion, especially with James Cook in tow.

Cook ran out of the house, his gait surprisingly steady despite the fact that he smelled like a brewery. He stopped on the front lawn and turned, looking at Emily as she shut the front door of Gina's flat behind her.

"We taking your bike, then?" he asked. Emily nodded,, walking over to her moped and tossing a helmet to Cook. Much to her surprise, he caught it and put it on. "A bit snug…" he said after a moment. Emily rolled her eyes.

"Deal with it or we're walking." She answered with a smirk. Cook shrugged and watched as she got onto the bike.

"So what, am I just supposed to like… hold onto you? Sure Naoms won't get jealous?" he asked, clearly joking. Emily simply laughed and put her goggles and her helmet on, starting the moped and gesturing for Cook to get onto the bike as well. He grinned, that goofy Cookish grin that meant he was ready to take on the world, and straddled the back of the bike. When his arms slipped around her waist, Emily noticed that they were surprisingly warm, despite the fact that it was a cool night out and Cook was only wearing a blue tank top and jeans. She also noted that he didn't smell half bad, despite the fact that he looked like he hadn't showered in a few days at least.

"Hold on tight!" she called, and he squeezed her waist slightly. Emily felt her face heat up again and for a split second was amazed at the contrast between how it felt to have Naomi on the bike with her and how it felt with Cook. She could feel his muscles against her back and thought about how much more solid he felt than Naomi, then blinked a few times, shocked that the comparison would even cross her mind. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she revved the engine and focused on the road ahead of them.

After approaching downtown Bristol, Cook patted her on the shoulder.

"Here!" he exclaimed excitedly, gesturing to Havoc, a newer club that had opened shortly after Freddie's accident. Neither Emily nor Naomi had been inside yet, but after Emily parked the bike and she and Cook approached the front door it was apparent that he had been there before. The bouncer manning the front door glanced at Emily and was about to say something to her, then he looked at Cook, back to her, and nodded slowly, smirking. The redhead's brow furrowed, she was slightly confused but didn't think to question it. As Cook high-fived the bouncer, she thought she saw a small baggie transfer from the bouncer's beefy hand to Cook's.

As she and Cook worked their way into the club, she touched his arm. He turned around and she motioned for him to lean closer. When he did, she lifted her lips to his ear. "What did he give you?" she asked, and she thought she saw him shiver slightly. He turned his head so that their faces were centimeters apart and smiled.

"MDMA, what do you think?" he asked, face breaking out into another infectious grin. "Do you want some?" he asked after a moment, and Emily blinked. She hadn't touched the stuff since Sophia's suicide, but it had been a while since then and she was with Cook. She was certain he would look out for her and make sure she didn't do anything stupid.

"Why the hell not?" she finally yelled over the music. Cook laughed and grabbed her hand, leading her up to the bar.

"Drinks first!" he explained, flashing his fake I.D. at the bartender. He ordered a whiskey sour for himself and a raspberry margarita for Emily- she was amazed that he'd remembered she like raspberries- and turned to her after the drinks had come and he'd paid for them.

"Thank you, sir." She said with a smile as he handed her the margarita. Emily took a drink and smiled. It was perfect, usually people made raspberry drinks a bit weaker, but Emily felt like the tequila and the raspberry complimented each other quite nicely; this place had a really excellent bartender, she thought to herself.

"Emilio approves?" he asked, pointing at her drink. Emily laughed.

"Emilio approves of this entire outing, so far!" she responded, and Cook gulped down a good portion of his drink before grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowd. Emily held her drink up above her head, trying her hardest not to get jostled by anybody in vicinity and risk spilling the beverage.

They successfully made their way to the men's room, and Cook slammed each of the stall doors open consecutively before pushing Emily into the handicapped stall and going in after her, locking the stall door. Emily eyed her surroundings warily, and Cook laughed softly.

"We got lucky, usually there's people shagging in this stall." He stated casually, raising an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't touch the walls if I were you. And it's a good thing you're not wearing open-toed shoes, eh?" he eyed her flats pointedly. Emily cringed a bit.

"And people wonder why I don't like men." She quipped. Cook smiled and produced a pack of rizlas from his pocket, taking a paper out and shaking some MDMA into it.

"Well, I've seen some pretty questionable women leave this bathroom too, so don't blame men for it all." He replied, sealing the rizla and handing it to her. "Go on, down the hatch, then!" Emily obliged and swallowed it, downing the rest of her drink while Cook made a bomb for himself. When he had taken his and put everything away, he pumped his fist up into the air. "Woo!" he vocalized, opening the stall door. "Let's party!"

Emily grinned and set her glass down on the counter, sure that someone would come to retrieve it eventually. She followed Cook out of the bathroom just as a dubstep song started up, and they made their way to the dance floor. After a few songs and various dance partners, all of whom Emily had eventually distanced herself from after they'd tried to touch her in places they had no business touching. Emily felt the drug begin to take a hold of her, and she lost herself in the music, eyeing Cook with a smile. He was dancing with a pretty blonde girl, but after a moment she wandered away from him and he made his way towards Emily. He leaned towards her, their cheeks brushing slightly.

"Feeling it yet?" He whispered into her ear. His breath was warm, she could feel heat radiating from his body and she shivered slightly. He drew back and a lazy smile crept over his features. "I guess that answers my question." He said matter-of-factly over the music. "Dance with me?" he asked. Emily nodded, why shouldn't she dance with one of her best mates?

Emily moved her hips to the beat, sashaying close to Cook and giggling as his eyebrows drew up in surprise. She'd been watching some of Gina's bellydancing DVDs lately in an attempt to improve her dancing. Judging by the look Cook was giving her, it was working. Without warning, He placed a hand on the small of her back and drew her in a bit closer. Emily didn't mind. This was Cook, after all; he knew she was gay, he was the safest dance partner for her at the moment. She languidly drooped her arms around his neck, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity with the bass that was steadily pouring from the speakers. She closed her eyes for a moment, and suddenly there was nothing in the room except for the music, and her, and Cook.

Emily moved her arms back to her sides and turned so that Cook's hand was now on her stomach. He moved his hands to her hips and she backed up so that they were pressed even closer together. _What are you doing, Emily? _Some rational part of her started screaming. She smiled and paid it no attention. She was safe; she was having fun, which was what mattered.

She raised her arms back up over her head and moved herself lower to the ground one beat at a time, then drawing herself back up slowly when she'd felt she'd gone far enough. She felt her hand brush Cook's cheek just as the song ended, his skin slightly stubbly but still humming with energy. When the next song, a softer one, started up, she turned around and grinned, only to see Cook staring at her, shock clearly visible on his face.

"What?" she asked after a moment, knowing in the back of her mind that she'd gone too far. He said nothing, instead he turned and headed back towards the loo. Emily followed him, nearly losing him in the crowd a couple of times. When Cook opened the door and went to slam it, Emily caught it and followed him inside- much to the surprise of the man standing at one of the urinals.

"Out!" Cook barked at the man, whe promptly stopped his flow and zipped back up, rushing out of the bathroom so quickly he nearly ran into the door before he could open it. Cook did the same thing he had done with the stalls earlier, then walked past Emily and locked the bathroom door. She faced him, and he leaned against the locked door.

"What the fuck, Emily?" Cook asked plainly, crossing his arms and staring at her. She blinked, taken aback, but said nothing. "I mean, really… What the fuck?" he asked again. She cleared her throat, suddenly a little bit nervous.

"Sorry, MDMA, it just… hits me and I kind of… lose myself in my senses." She tried explaining it, Cook smirked, and she could tell he understood slightly. "I was dancing and just… it felt nice." She said.

"Dancing with me?" he asked. She nodded, and he laughed- a bark of a laugh she'd rarely heard. "It felt nice! That's your excuse for teasing me like that? I mean fuckin' hell, Emilio, you were HOT out there. Where the hell did you- never mind, I don't really want to know. The point is…" he paused and stared at her, his eyes sweeping over her. She cocked her head to one side and he smiled. "The point is… now we have a problem."

"A problem?" she echoed, confused.

"Well, drugged or not, not a lot of lesbians would dance out there like that… with a man." He said bluntly. "So the problem is that I'm confused. Are you attracted to women _and _ men, Ems?" he asked, arching one eyebrow. Emily rolled her eyes.

"You really expect me to answer that question while I'm this high?" she asked, giggling and removing her flannel shirt, revealing well-toned arms. "You're out of your mind. Right now I'm attracted to beautiful things. And dancing… is something beautiful." She finished, snickering at Cook's exasperated look. She leaned back onto one of the sinks and perched herself onto it. "So are we going to go back out there and dance, or not?" she asked.

Cook shook his head. "The Cookie Monster does not accept that answer. It's a yes or a no, or we're staying in here until they have to break down the door." He smacked the door with the flat of his hand for emphasis.

"You drive a hard bargain." Emily remarked, looking up at the splotchy yellow and tan ceiling and grimacing. "But I don't know if I can answer it honestly with a yes or a no. Because I really don't know."

"That's a load of shit." Cook said almost immediately, stepping forward. "That was more than dancing. That was fucking toying with me. You knew what you were doing, and I think you liked it." He stalked across the room towards her and stood before her, she could tell he was breathing somewhat heavily. Emily blinked and looked at his hard, tortured expression. She'd seen this side of Cook before, it had just always been directed toward s Effy rather than her. "Which is it, Emilio?" he asked softly, placing a hand on her arm. His touch felt nice on her bare skin. Her eyes scanned his rugged face, his dimples, how soft his lips looked…

Before she even knew what she was doing, she was kissing him and he was kissing her back. Then they were snogging, her hands in his hair and his arms around her waist. She wrapped her legs around him to steady herself and caught his lower lip softly with her teeth. His tongue explored her mouth recklessly, and she had to stifle a moan as he pressed her body up against his. Then, for a moment, Emily regained her senses and forced herself to pull back.

Wide eyed and breathing heavily, she pushed Cook away from her and stared at him. "What the fuck?!" she exclaimed, and Cook laughed.

"I believed I asked you that same question a few minutes ago." He stated, licking his lips. Emily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still able to taste his mouth on hers.

"Cook, I have a girlfriend!" she hopped off of the edge of the sink and approached him. "Even if I am attracted to men when I'm high, it doesn't give you the right to use that to your advantage!" through the drug-induced euphoria, Emily was appalled by both her behavior and his. What in the hell did he think he was doing, kissing her like that when clearly she was in a committed relationship and clearly she was into girls when she wasn't on something. For that matter, what did she thing _she_ was doing, bombing MDMA at a club without her girlfriend?

Cook stared at her, looking like he'd just been slapped, the hurt in his icy blue eyes very evident. "It takes two." He said sharply. "You wanted that just as much as I did. And you probably want more than that, just like I do."

Emily felt like she'd just been slapped, but at the same time a part of her agreed with his words. She wasn't about to admit it, though. "It was just the drugs." She said defensively, getting fairly annoyed by this point. Cook rolled his eyes and walked towards her again.

"That…. That was not just the drugs." He said slowly, his eyes gazing intently into hers. "Face it, you wanted me to practically take you right there." He gestured towards the sink, and Emily blushed for what seemed to her like the billionth time that night.

"You're exaggerating." She told him, rolling her eyes. "I wanted to snog, you were available. It was a mistake, it won't happen again." Even as she said the words she was nearly certain that she wanted it to happen again, but she wasn't about to admit that to him.

Cook looked at her, a very serious expression on his face as he moved closer to her. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, moving his face so close to hers that their noses touched. Emily felt her heart begin to beat faster, she licked her lips nervously, and as soon as she opened her mouth again to speak, Cook's lips had descended upon hers again, only this time he was maneuvering her into the handicapped stall as they kissed. She didn't mind, not as long as he kept kissing her.

His mouth tasted like tobacco and whiskey, and faintly of beer, and his kisses were so much rougher than Naomi's had ever been. The difference between the two really was incredible, she thought vaguely as he pressed her up against the stall wall. She moved her hands underneath his shirt, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin against hers some more.

"Cook, we shouldn't…" she began as he moved his lips down her neck, his tongue leaving a faint trail. She moaned slightly. " We really shouldn't…" she tried again, but his teeth nipping at her neck just ever-so-slightly stopped her thoughts in their tracks. She moaned, running a hand up his back and grazing the back of his neck with her fingernails.

"Don't worry so much." He whispered as one of his hands worked its way under her shirt. He unclasped the front of her bra and kissed her mouth, harder this time, his tongue more insistant, as he freed her breasts from their confines. He touched her nipple with his thumb and she swore she could feel electricity light up every nerve ending in her body. She groaned again, this time into his mouth, and he pinched her nipple softly. She gasped, and he ground his hips into hers. She heard him let out a stifled groan, and she realized by feel that the bulge in his jeans had grown considerably. She felt her heartbeat quicken. After a moment he removed his lips from hers.

"You ever been with a guy?" he asked suddenly, and Emily couldn't help but laugh and nod. He didn't need to know who, she decided, snickering inwardly before his mouth met hers again and he began to fumble with the button on her jeans. After a second he got it, and she removed her legs from around his waist so that she could lower them Deciding that was too much work, she kicked them onto the floor, and soon her underwear followed suit. Cook stood, pants around his ankles, and picked her back up, pressing her against the stall wall even more insistently than before.

She cried out a bit when his tip touched her opening, not used to the feeling of something that large being put there. Usually with Naomi it was one, maybe two fingers, or a tongue. Nothing in comparison to Cook's cock, which was now working it's way into her, inch by inch. When he was completely in, Emily gasped. Then, without warning, Cook thrust out and then back in, quickly. Emily kissed him hungrily, moaning into his mouth at varying volumes as he moved his hips, driving himself deeper into her.

She couldn't control herself, she raked her nails down his back and he grunted, becoming more gruff and insistent with each thrust. She bit his neck, not a polite nibble but a honest-to-god bite because something told her he responded well to pain. She couldn't have been more right.

"Holy fuck, Emily." He moaned, gripping her hips with his hands and slamming her down onto him so forcefully she threw her head as far back as it would go and nearly screamed with pleasure. "You don't even realize…" he moaned as she raked a hand through his hair "how sexy you are." He mumbled into her mouth as he kissed her again. Cook continued driving into her, and Emily was suddenly aware that she was calling out his name; she only thought that happened in movies, really. Slowly, slowly the pleasure built, until she nearly couldn't take it any more.

She felt the intensity build up inside of her, and rocked back and forth on him a few times. She panted into his ear, then bit down on his shoulder right as she was about to come.

"Fuuuuuck!" Cook cried out, and as Emily felt an orgasm sparking through her she knew he had come, as well. She closed her eyes, seeing different colors floating behind her lids as the sensation faded. Cook held her against the wall for a few more moments, the two of them sweating and panting, until he finally spoke.

"How did a lesbian learn to ride cock like that?" he asked breathlessly, and Emily shrugged. She was just as shocked as he was, if not more so.

When they had cleaned up and re-dressed themselves, the regret began to settle in slowly. Emily stared at Cook, not quite believing what had just happened. He was giving her a look that conveyed similar thoughts.

"I just cheated on my girlfriend…" Emily slowly stated after a moment. Her face fell; after all of the anger she had harbored towards Naomi for sleeping with Sophia, hooking up with Cook in a bathroom stall was possibly the most hypocritical thing she could have ever done. She felt Cook's eyes on her, knew he was watching her intently for some reason. "I…I think I need to go home." She said suddenly, head spinning. Not her home, Naomi's home. Naomi's mother's home, no less. "What the fuck did we just do, Cook?"

"Shagged, seems like." He said nonchalantly. "You can't deny that it was good, right?"

Emily's eyes widened. This wasn't the Cook she had become fast friends with, the confused warrior with a heart that was secretly made of gold. No, this was an entirely different side to Cook, one that she had never been exposed to. It made her slightly sick to her stomach and dizzy. She suddenly felt like she was going to vomit.

He must have noticed the look on her face, because Cook grabbed her hand. "Let's get out of here, eh?" he asked. "I'll drive the bike; don't worry, I'll try not to go too fast."

Emily nodded, simultaneously feeling both numb and ashamed. She let Cook lead her out of the bathroom and through the still-crowded club. When they got to her bike, Cook pulled out another MDMA bomb and handed it to her. He swallowed one of his own, then gestured for her to take hers. Emily looked at it and shrugged. Why not? It wasn't like she hadn't already made the biggest mistake of her life. She put her helmet on and watched Cook as he stepped onto the bike, entirely too conscious of the way his still-sweaty form made her heart race. As she sat down behind him, she noticed how he stiffened up slightly as her breasts made contact with his back. Unable to help herself, she suddenly found herself running one hand up his thighs. Cook looked back at her and grinned.

"You'll have to wait til we get back to yours." He said, clearly amused, and Emily couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh. Didn't he mean her girlfriend's house?


	2. Chapter 2: Emily

On Friday night after they reached Naomi's flat, Cook and Emily had sex four more times. The first time, they had just gotten back from the club and the drugs had started to hit them both. Emily was barely aware of what she was doing when she shut the door behind her and then proceeded to kiss Cook squarely on the mouth, invigorated by the way his hand had touched hers when he'd helped her off of the moped. They had proceeded from there, undressing one another any way that they could, be it hands or teeth or a combination of the two. Cook had braced her against the back of the couch and knelt down before her, shoving his tongue so far between her legs she'd felt like she was going to crack. Admittedly, he had surprised her by being a bit more talented with his tongue than Naomi was with hers. He hadn't stopped until she'd come, and then he'd tossed her over onto the couch cushions and had proceeded to pound into her until they were both satisfied, the MDMA still coursing over them both in waves. They sat on the couch splitting a spliff and drinking bottled wine for a while, because it sounded better to Emily than beer and Cook was game as long as it was alcohol.

When the feelings of regret had begun to surface again, about twenty minutes later, Emily had insisted that they take some more MDMA and dragged Cook upstairs so that they could take a hot shower. There, she had taunted him with her mouth and tongue for a while, then he had taken her from behind until her legs had buckled and they'd ended up on the shower floor, panting and still going at one another like a couple of wild animals.

When the hot water had all been used up, they'd quickly headed the spare bedroom, instead of the one that Emily shared with Naomi. There, Cook had pinned her down by her slender wrists and had inserted himself inside of her roughly, making her scream so loud that her voice cracked multiple times. They had gone at it until both of them had come again, and then had cuddled for a while.

When Emily found that she couldn't stand properly, they decided to stop fucking for the night, though that didn't stop Cook from alternately fingering her thirty minutes later, making her whimper as he laid there beside her, flicking her clit with a sadistic smile. Eventually they went at it again.

"You like it when I do this, eh?" he asked at one point, when he was buried so far inside of her that she almost told him to stop, but it felt too good for the word to surface. Emily had barely been able to gasp any sort of reply when he'd grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled her head back, at the same time pulling almost all of the way out of her and then pushing back in so intensely that Emily bit her own lip and tasted blood. It satiated some sort of sick hunger in her, and she came harder than she ever had before.

Then they finally decided to get some sleep, and Emily curled up next to Cook beneath the covers, suddenly exhausted. She wanted to take a shower but knew she probably wouldn't be able to stand for long, and a bath was out of the question simply because she would probably fall asleep and accidentally drown. Then, it crossed her mind that that might not be a bad idea, because she had just cheated on Naomi in her own house FOUR TIMES. This was no longer a crazy MDMA-fueled hookup in a bathroom stall, which may have been forgivable if Naomi had been able to punch Cook in the face at some point. No, this was five times of sweating and screaming and letting Cook, of all people, do things to her that she'd never dreamed of. Naomi would never forgive her.

In the midst of her thoughts, Emily hadn't noticed that she had begun to cry, and so she jumped a little bit when Cook put his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him.

"Don't cry, Ems." He murmured sleepily into her hair. He kissed her head, and she was stunned. "Just embrace the moment, babes. It is what it is."

"Yeah…" she mumbled, realizing how much she enjoyed the feeling of his skin against her own, and realizing also just how much that terrified her.

* * *

The next morning, her mobile rang, and Emily sat up in bed, momentarily confused before the events of the previous night flooded over her. _Fuck, _she thought to herself, getting up out of bed and throwing on the nearest robe, a purple silk thing that had to belong to Gina. Emily wandered into the hallway, where she found her phone laying at the top of the steps. She grabbed it, and of course it had to be Naomi. With a sigh, she composed herself and answered it, bending down to grab her bra, which was hanging on the bannister of the staircase.

"Hey." She said, realizing just how weak her voice sounded. She heard Naomi laugh on the other end.

"Hello gorgeous! Did I wake you?" she asked, and Emily glanced back nervously at the bed, where Cook was sprawled out, stark naked. The room still smelled of sex, and the entire upstairs was ridiculously messy. She was terrified of what the downstairs looked like.

"Uh…yeah." She tried to sound sleepy instead of nervous, and it must have worked. While Naomi went on about how much of a bitch her aunt was and how much she couldn't wait to come back home, Emily sat on the top step of the staircase, and all that she could think about was how the three words "I fucked Cook" were going to eventually come out and destroy the relationship that she and Naomi had so carefully reconstructed. She played the dutiful girlfriend, listening to Naomi gripe and telling her how much she missed her. Still, when the time came she found herself oddly grateful to hear Naomi's aunt shouting in the background.

"Shit! I've gotta go. Dragon Lady's insisting I go get a manicure with her." Naomi explained, and Emily snickered. "I love you." Naomi said, and Emily suddenly felt tears spring to her eyes. Those were the three words she should want to say, instead of the other ones that marred her conscience.

"I love you too." She finally managed, willing her voice not to shake with all of her might. She waited, hoping Naomi wouldn't say anything else, and thankfully she didn't because Emily wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the happy façade. Feeling weary, she set the phone down beside her and sighed, placing her head in her hands.

"That must have been an awkward conversation, am I right?" Cook chimed in from behind her. Emily turned around; he was just standing in the doorway of the bedroom, still naked, not even bothering to cover anything up.

"Put some clothes on." She snarled, standing up. "What happened last night was a one-time thing." She said, watching Cook as he smirked sadly.

"Yeah Ems, that's what you said after our first snogging session, which led to our first fuckfest, which led to numbers two, three, four, and….five, if I'm correct?" Cook counted out the numbers on one hand, and Emily glared at him. Of course he was correct. They had been fucked up, but not fucked up enough to have forgotten much of anything.

"Just shut up, get dressed, and help me clean up." She said, suddenly exasperated. "You know, at first I think you're this really good guy, and then you go and fuck me. I mean, you literally fucked me, Cook! You didn't even think of Naomi!" she exclaimed, tossing her phone at him. He caught it easily.

"You didn't think about her either, Emilio. You were just as much a part of this as I was. Now, the question is, what are you going to do about it?" he asked, slowly. The question infuriated her even more.

"I'm going to fucking tell her, that's what I'm going to do." She muttered, heading down the stairs to survey the mess downstairs. She started picking up her clothing and piling it up in her arms, leaving Cook's clothes strewn about. He followed her, pulling his pants on when he found them and then pulled a cigarette out of the pack in one of the pockets.

"And then what? Break her heart?" he asked, lighting his fag. He pointed the open portion of the pack towards her and offered her one. Emily hesitated, then grabbed one and snatched the lighter out of his hands, lighting the fag and inhaling. "Nah, Emilio, you're not that kind of girl."

That particularly annoyed her. "How the hell do you know what kind of girl I am?" she retorted. Cook simply laughed and cleared the space between them in a few steps. He ran a finger down her arm, and her body involuntarily responded to the touch by shivering, even as she willed every fiber of her being to stay still.

"Well, I'd say right now I know a hell of a lot more about you than Naomi, am I right?" he asked, eyes bright, smile wide. Emily fought the urge to slap him, then had to fight the urge to kiss him and suddenly became very confused. It must have shown on her face, because Cook looked at her curiously.

"I am right, aren't I?" he asked, his blue eyes searching her brown ones. She tried to read his expression, but it was impossible. He was Cook, nearly every emotion he showed masked a different one beneath the surface; that much she had managed to learn over the course of two years.

"Currently, yes." She replied, and a satisfied smile spread across his features. "When Naomi gets home, though, I'm telling her everything." At that, Cook's face fell, and something dawned on Emily; he liked knowing her biggest secret. _Well, why shouldn't he? _She asked herself as she turned and bent over to pick up her jeans and underwear from the night before. The former was damp with sweat, the latter damp with sweat and something else Emily didn't want to think about. _This is exactly the kind of thing guys like Cook want, girls under their thumbs. You were an idiot to think he was your friend._

Just as she was about to stand up, she felt a hand smack her arse rather hard. She wheeled around.

"Damnit, Cook, you can't do that!" she exclaimed. His smile from moments before reappeared.

"But it turned you on." It was more of a statement than a question. Emily rolled her eyes.

"Wanker." She muttered. Cook grabbed her arm. "Wha- get the fuck off of me!" she bellowed. When he brought his mouth crashing down onto hers a split second later, she dropped the pile of clothing in her other arm and all hell broke loose.

It was like she couldn't control herself; Emily reached up and snogged him like there was no need for oxygen, grabbing a chunk of his wavy hair and pulling it just ever-so-slightly. She felt him groan into her mouth and allowed him to pick her up and set her on the couch. He straddled her and she felt his bulge against her thigh as the silk robe rode up.

"Every time you look at me, I see it." He untied the robe and exposed her naked body to him, kissing her neck and nibbling it gently. Emily nearly fell apart. "She doesn't play rough like I do. She doesn't hold you down, she doesn't make you scream." She moaned and he moved his mouth down her chest, to her left nipple. He made little circles around it with his tongue, then, without warning, caught her now-hard nipple in between his teeth and pulled just ever-so-slightly. It was painful, but she felt herself get wetter as he massaged the area with his tongue, then moved to the next breast and did the same thing.

He slid two fingers into her, and then chuckled. "For a lezzy you're really turned on right now." He remarked, and she responded by grabbing his arm and moving his fingers in deeper.

"Shut up." She growled, suddenly aware that her voice sounded hoarse and oddly sexy. Suddenly, she didn't want to think, she just wanted to feel something other than like absolute shit, and she knew this would provide her with momentarily relief from her own mind.

Emily arched her back as Cook's thumb brushed her clit once, then a second time. Then every other time his fingers moved into her. She moved her hips upward to get a better angle, and then noticed headily that Cook had somehow unzipped his pants and managed to get them down around his knees. He was hard, and as he removed his hand from between her legs and massaged her opening with his tip, she moaned. In that moment, there was nothing more than just her and Cook, and when he slid into her slowly, she felt _connected _somehow. It was strange, having these sorts of feelings without the aid of the drugs, but Emily didn't question it, instead she raked her fingernails up Cook's back. He responded with a shudder.

"You're amazing." He muttered, pinning her to the couch with that same intense gaze he'd used before. She replied by kissing his neck, not believing his words but willing to accept them for what they were- bullshit spewed in the heat of the moment.

"Thanks." She whispered sultrily, moving her mouth upward to catch his earlobe in between her teeth. She pulled gently, then let go, and smiled to herself when he moaned again and began thrusting hard and fast. Emily couldn't help but cry out as he penetrated deeper and deeper, until finally she felt that familiar explosion building up inside of her.

"Cook…" she called, voice cracking again. her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails slowly digging into his flesh. He responded by slamming himself into her, and it felt so good that Emily heard a scream and only a moment later realized it had come from _her. _Her legs spasmed, wrapping themselves so tightly around his waist that when he came he could barely thrust, which made it that much better for them both.

Afterwards, they just laid there, him on top of her, the two of them panting, naked, and entwined.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Emily finally gathered the courage to ask, but not the courage to look him in the eyes. She was afraid that he'd say something about how she was the only one in trouble, or something to that effect. Instead, Cook nodded, kissing her gently, the sweaty fringe of her bangs sticking to his forehead.

"Yeah babes, yeah we are." He whispered against her lips.

Somehow, it comforted her, knowing that she was not alone in her worry.

* * *

After that, there was no denying that it hadn't just been the drugs the night before. When they finally started cleaning up the downstairs, Emily couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her when he didn't think she was looking. She was still wearing the robe, and knew that she needed to go upstairs and change but she couldn't quite bring herself to enter the room that she and Naomi shared, even to get clothes. The guilt was just too much, even looking at the door hurt.

When she did finally go upstairs, she warned Cook that she wanted to shower alone. Thank God he listened to her; she honestly wasn't sure how much more her legs could take. She was still incredibly sore, and that morning hadn't done anything to help, of course.

The hot water poured over her, and she vaguely wished that each drop could wash away the deep sense of shame she felt. She had spent so long identifying as gay, trying to get Naomi to do the same thing… and when it finally happened, when they were officially a couple, she had had to go and fuck everything up. This was worse than what Naomi had done with Sophia if only for the fact that it was _Cook _and the two girls had known him for _years _and Emily couldn't believe that she had even allowed this to happen.

A single sob escaped her throat as tears made their way down her face, mixing with the water. Emily pressed a hand to her mouth and sank to the shower floor, trying her hardest to avoid breaking down but ultimately failing. She was helpless as the sobs wrenched their way out her throat and into the air, each one louder than the next. After a few moments of this, she was aware of a voice on the other side of the shower curtain.

"You okay, Emilio?" Cook asked, like nothing had happened between them and he had no idea why she was crying. Emily punched the curtain angrily, one knuckle smacking the side of the tub. She resisted crying out in pain because at this point she felt like she deserved all of the pain the world had to offer her.

"Go the fuck away." She said wearily. "Of course I'm not bloody okay. We didn't even need drugs that last time, for fuck's sake!" she shouted the last sentence and was surprised when the shower curtain opened and Cook stood there, nearly eye-fucking her as she cried on the shower floor.

"Emily, it's not the worst thing in the world, you know…" he began softly, and Emily glared at him, or tried to.

"Not for you, you're not the one in a relationship, you don't have a girlfriend who trusts you with everything!" she spat, and the instant the words left her mouth she regretted them. The look on Cook's face was one of pure pain. Of course he wasn't in a relationship, but that didn't mean that he hadn't wanted to be. He shut the shower curtain and Emily heard him walk out.

"Cook!" she called after him, not quite sure why she suddenly felt even more awful than she already had. After a moment she stopped the water and stood up, getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her securely. She wandered out of the bathroom. "Cook!" she called again, suddenly afraid that he'd left.

Then she noticed that the door to her and Naomi's room was open. Curiously, Emily peered inside. Cook stood in the middle of the room with his back to her, eyeing all of the photographs she and Naomi had collected of one another over the past year. She entered the room, feet padding softly against the carpeted floor.

"You two have something wonderful, huh?" he asked, voice slightly full of amazement, which Emily found slightly morbid. When he turned to look at her Emily thought she saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. Wordlessly, she nodded, walking over to the dresser and opening up her drawer to get out a fresh change of underwear. She was going to ask him to leave while she changed, but realized it didn't really matter, he had seen everything already.

It felt almost right, in a sickening sense, Emily thought to herself as she pulled on a simple grey pair of boyshorts and donned a matching bra. Cook standing there, in the room where she and Naomi had consummated their love on more than one occasion, it felt like it should be happening, because Emily knew that she deserved the twisted irony of it all.

"I do really love her. I just…well, I don't know what this is with us, not really."

"An experiment?" he suggested, and Emily felt her face twist into a wry smirk as she remembered the time that she had told Naomi that she was 'not an experiment.' But was that really what this was? Emily hadn't felt the need to really experiment with boys, outside of that one time with JJ and that had really only been a pity fuck. Cook noticed her expression and looked at her quizzically, reading it almost perfectly.

"Not an experiment, then?" he said after a moment and she would have burst out laughing if the irony hadn't made the moment absolutely horrible.

"No Cook, it wasn't an experiment. I told you, I'd had sex with a bloke before." She explained as she busily sorted through the clothes that she kept in the closet, deciding on a simple fitted black shirt and short yellow skirt with leggings that were almost teal, finishing the outfit with black boots. She nodded at the outfit choice approvingly, and turned to catch Cook staring at her with an amused look on his face. "What?" she asked after a moment, putting on the shirt.

"It's just… you never did tell me who your first guy was." He said slowly, raising an eyebrow. Emily rolled her eyes, holding back a sudden giggle fit.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She replied, snickering. Cook gave her a perplexed stare.

"Try me." He said simply, and Emily couldn't help but noticed how his face really was… cute. _Oh my God Emily stop it. You're gay. You've been gay your whole life, that doesn't just change in one night. _She told herself mentally. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

"Well… it was sort of… pity sex…" she began carefully, Cook's eyebrows raised even further- she hadn't known that was possible.

"Of course it was." He said after a moment with a sigh. "Ems the fixer, pity-fucking some bloke who'd just lost his bird, I imagine?" he asked, and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Not really… pity fucking someone because they wanted to lose their virginity and feel good about themselves." She corrected him, hoping that gave him a hint as to who it was.

"Yeah, well, I bet you made him feel right fantastic, yeah? Who was it?" he asked. Emily was both a bit disgusted and turned on by Cook's complete lack of shame.

"Why? Jealous you weren't my first cock?" she countered, equally as shameless in her word choice. Cook was silent for a while, his eyes leaving hers to scan the gigantic collage Naomi had made to document their relationship's high points. Emily rolled her eyes, exasperated, and finished getting dressed. "It was JJ, if you must know." She said after she'd slipped on her shoes.

Cook's head whipped in her direction so quickly Emily nearly laughed at how comical the motion was. Suddenly, he was doubling over in a ferocious sort of laughter that Emily was used to hearing when he was incredibly pissed at a pub somewhere and somebody had said something raunchy.

"JJ?" he finally gasped, still laughing. Emily blushed and shrugged, noticing again how lean-yet-muscular Cook's physique was, kicking herself mentally once more for thinking it. His eyes met hers and he stopped his laughter suddenly, noticing her staring. "You checking me out then, Em?" he asked curiously. Emily didn't know quite how to respond, so she rolled her eyes and walked out of the room.

"I need breakfast." She said, avoiding his question, entirely sure that whatever she made, she would only be able to choke down a few bites of it. She felt sick to her stomach, thinking about all that had happened in the short span of about twelve hours. Part of her resisted the urge to pick up the phone and dial Naomi and confess everything….but Emily didn't know if she could do that, if she could tell Naomi without risking losing her.

Emily made her way down the stairs, trying her hardest not to cry.

* * *

She had been correct about her appetite, Cook noticed that she'd only eaten a few bites of the toast that she'd made and asked her if she was going to finish it. She sighed and looked at the plate forlornly, as though it were somehow the reason for her troubles. Then, she nodded and told Cook to go ahead and eat them, she wasn't very hungry.

"Look Emilio, if you want me to leave, I can." He said after a moment, and Emily realized that she didn't want him to leave, because that would mean being left alone with her own thoughts, and that could very well drive her mad. She shook her head, knowing her brain wasn't built to handle this much pressure.

"Somehow I doubt you have anywhere else to go…" she replied quietly, and he shrugged.

"The Cookie Monster always has a place to go, man! That's the beauty of being me!" he exclaimed, taking a large bite of toast and mashing it between his jaws. Emily laid her head down on the kitchen table. Cook didn't notice, instead he continued… "I'm free, even if everyone wants to put me in a cage. I can do what I want, when I want!"

Emily looked up at him sharply. "Including aid in fucking up other people's relationships, yeah?" Emily brushed her bangs out of one eye, realizing she needed to trim them before they got much longer.

"Well, just because you're free doesn't mean you don't fuck up. And it doesn't mean you don't regret things." He admitted a bit sheepishly, and Emily was slightly taken aback by the sincere tone in his voice.

"I mean once was one thing. We could have blown that off as nothing…" Emily began, and Cook nodded. "But just because we like fucking each other, does that really mean that it's something?" she posed the question to Cook, who shrugged.

"I think that's a discussion best had after I've eaten the rest of this and we've got a little bit of spliff in us, yeah?" he asked, taking another large bite of toast. Emily shrugged, and then stood up.

"I should go get some spliff, then?" she asked, and Cook shook his head, and then smiled.

"I've got it, in my shirt pocket." He looked down at the pocket, which Emily saw now contained the visible outlines of a cigarette pack. She smiled and, without thinking, wandered over to him. Then, she bent down, suddenly self-conscious about the way her breasts were pretty much at eye-level with him, and reached into the pocket of his shirt, grabbing the pack swiftly. She heard his breath catch slightly as her hand touched his chest, felt her own heartbeat quicken just a bit. Emily composed herself just enough to take a lighter off of the kitchen counter and light one of the joints she fished out of the pack.

"Sorry," she said simply, looking into his eyes and seeing the faintest hint of desire in them. "Wanted to get a bit of a head start. I've got some spliff, if you want me to pay you back." She said, and Cook just shook his head.

"You are fucking dangerous, you are." He said with a smile. Emily could hear the unspoken conclusion- _I like that- _hanging in the air between them and puffed on the spliff nervously, glad that it tasted outstanding and was a welcome distraction from the predatory gaze Cook was giving her. After a few more bites he pushed the toast away, then stood and took the joint from her, sticking it between his lips and inhaling deeply. He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, patting the cushion beside him. Emily hesitated at first, then went and sat down. When his arm settled down around her shoulders, she tried pushing it away but instead he drew her closer, and she let him, not really sure of what else to do.

She took the spliff from him and inhaled, glancing up at his somewhat-glazed eyes as she rested her head on his chest. "Why is everything so fucked up?" she finally asked. "Me and Naomi, we were in a good place, and suddenly this happens… whatever this is." She added, gesturing at how the two of them were very obviously _cuddling _of all things.

_Well, _she thought a bit morosely, _at least cuddling is better than fucking._

Cook sighed, his breath warm on the top of her head. He patted her arm with the hand that was around her shoulders.

"I don't know, Emilio." He said at last. "I guess… when somebody breaks your heart, you find it easier to break theirs and feel less bad about it. That fire that we talked about, the one that you needed to let burn… it's still burning, mate. As much as you don't want it to, as much as it kills you and tears you up inside, it's still burning. And the only thing left for you to do deal with its existence or move on and let it burn out."

It took Emily a while to grasp what he was saying, and when she finally did she was astonished. "You're saying I'm still upset about the whole Sophia thing?" she asked him, incredulous. Cook shrugged and took a hit off of the spliff, handing it back to her. She coughed slightly as the smoke stung the back of her throat.

"I'm just saying that maybe you don't trust Naomi as much as you want to, after what happened." he said, taking the spliff back from her. Although the words were shockingly simple to hear, they weren't quite as easy to digest. She sank even further into the couch, nestling herself against him, tears threatening to spring from her eyes. Her face grew hot with shame, and he tilted his head up to look at her.

"Is that it then?" he asked, and she nodded, unable to say much of anything with the floodgates in her mind open wide and all of these thoughts spilling in. She thought about all those times when she'd lay awake, watching Naomi sleep, thinking about their future together. She thought about how hurt she'd been when she had found out about Sophia, how crushed. She thought of her conversation with her father, her uncertainty over taking Naomi back after all that had happened… and at the end of it all, she thought of the fact that there was very little distance between her face and Cook's. Startled by the sudden rush of emotion that accompanied that last thought, Emily moved herself away from him a little ways.

"Well, what is this for you?" she asked him. "We've clarified that I have trust issues, even though that doesn't excuse _this_. What the hell are you doing with me?"

He smirked, but didn't say anything about the way her voice was slightly shaking. Instead, he batted his hand noncommittally at the air in front of him, as though he were waving smoke out of his face.

"A little of this, a little of that." He answered at last, and she punched him in the leg, suddenly grateful for all of those years her father had impressed fitness upon she and Katie. "Ow!" he exclaimed, chuckling slightly. "Okay, okay… this is about Effy, I suppose. About how I want to… forget." He answered, and Emily wasn't entirely shocked. Ever since she'd met Cook, everything he did had always been about Effy.

"So I'm what, exactly? Your rebound shag?" she asked, wincing when she realized how much she sounded like Katie, except Katie would never let anybody use her as their rebound anything. Cook blinked a few times as though the thought had never occurred to him, and for a moment the both of them just sat there, equally perplexed. When Cook spoke, Emily jumped slightly, as she had gotten quite used to the silence that surrounded them.

"Effy and I were never really together, so this isn't a rebound. This is…." Emily could tell that he was having trouble finding the right words. "This is the two of us, feeling lonely." He finally settled on, and Emily jerked away from him, barely controlling her reflex to just haul off and punch him.

"You're James Cook, you're never fucking lonely, don't give me that shite!" she exclaimed, and he laughed.

"I always thought you were the perceptive twin, Emilio. Maybe I was wrong." He said, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "I'm always fucking lonely; I just fill the loneliness with things. Drugs, people, alcohol… I even shared my loneliness with Effy for a while, you know? But she had her own loneliness, she didn't need mine, I knew that." Emily didn't know if it was the spliff or what, but she felt as though this was the most honest thing Cook had ever shared with her, without using metaphors. Apparently he thought the same thing too, because he shut up and stubbed the spliff out in the ashtray.

"Outside for a fag?" he queried, and Emily nodded. He reached a hand out to help her up, and she declined it, deciding that the least possible amount of physical contact between the two of them would probably be for the best. He grabbed her hand anyway, and Emily recoiled.

"No, Cook." She said plainly when he looked at her questioningly. He merely arched one eyebrow in a bemused fashion at her response and headed out to the backyard, gesturing for her to follow him. Emily grabbed her pack of fags off of the kitchen counter on the way out, trying to settle the knots in her stomach, but they just wouldn't go away.


	3. Chapter 3: Cook

Cook stared at the red-haired girl as she sat, lips pursed around a fag, in the green grass of Naomi's backyard. He almost couldn't believe that he'd nailed her for the sixth time only a few hours ago. _Really, Cook, you should be proud of yourself for this one, turning a lezzer bisexual, _he told himself, taking a puff off of his own cigarette and laying down in the grass beside her, staring up at the clouds. Try as he might, he couldn't get the ashamed look that he'd seen in her eyes for the past few hours out of his mind. _You fucked up your last two friendships, _the thought sprang, unbidden, into his mind, and he realized it was true.

After getting rid of Foster's body, Cook had called an ambulance out to the dead man's flat, raving about a young man close to death in the basement. He'd really only seen Freddie for a second, had made sure that he was breathing before the sight had become too much for him and he'd gotten the hell out of there. Shaken, bloodied up, and still riding the adrenaline rush. he had headed over to Naomi's house; Gina had let him in without saying a word, letting him sleep on the couch in the front room after explaining that Emily and Naomi were upstairs, both asleep and quite drunk. She hadn't asked him to explain why his red shirt looked a darker red than usual, hadn't questioned when he'd left at five in the morning. Later, Naomi had found him and asked him about it, and while he hadn't outright confessed to what had happened, well… the blonde was smarter than he'd given her credit for. After receiving word that Freddie was in the hospital, she'd put two and two together and had somehow tracked him down and hugged him, offering him a place to stay if he ever needed it. Then, she had said "I know what you did. Thank you," and he had nearly broken down in the alleyway before composing himself and telling her that the thanks wasn't necessary, he had just been looking out for his mate.

By the looks of things, she hadn't told Emily his secret, and he didn't want to ask Emily outright if she knew, because if she didn't that meant that Naomi had been keeping things from her. Cook figured he'd caused their relationship enough problems already.

Instead, he sat in silence, watching as Emily's brow furrowed and she tried to figure out a way out of the mess they had created. Unfortunately, Cook knew there was no way out, unless she wanted to tell Naomi the truth. She had mentioned wanting to do that earlier, but deep down he knew that she was second-guessing herself, trying to find a way to fix things. That was Emily's signature thing, helping people.

Well, she had certainly helped him release certain frustrations that had been building lately, at any rate. That was always nice, but he knew that he had in turn caused her some frustrations of a different variety, and beneath his cold exterior this really bothered Cook. He had genuinely meant to show her a good time, to send off his friend with the party of a lifetime. Now he found himself wondering if maybe he hadn't hoped that this would happen all along. The locked bathroom, the MDMA, the offer to dance, he hadn't needed to do any of these things, they were usually the techniques he used to score with fit birds when he was out, but he had just assumed that Emily would rebuff any advances that he made. He hadn't meant for things to go as far as they did. And when she'd responded to his kiss, so eagerly, that first time, he'd gotten carried away to the point where he'd actually taken Emily fucking Fitch into a stall and shagged her brains out.

He hadn't regretted it until she'd put her clothes back on, and her eyes had been panicked, mortified. Then he'd known he'd crossed the line. It had been stupid, not to flush the drugs down the toilet then and there, but he'd still been riding his high, and beneath her terrified expression Cook knew it was only a matter of time before the MDMA had taken hold of Emily again as well. He had been right.

"Everything's fucked." Emily's voice jarred him out of his mind, and Cook turned to look at her. She looked down at him and flicked the ash off of the end of her fag. "I was happy. I was perfectly happy, and I'm not exactly blaming you, because you're you and I should have seen it coming, but… how do I tell her something this fucking monumental?" she asked, her voice breaking on the last two words. She hastily took another drag, and Cook noted a tear fell out of one eye. He had to resist the urge to wipe it away, knowing that would probably be too much, just like the cuddling on the couch earlier had been.

"Well, it's not gonna be easy." Cook said, and Emily snorted, lying down beside him. He noted that she made sure to keep a few inches of space between the two of them, and thought of how easy it would be to clear those few inches in an instant and kiss her again. Then, he blinked, not entirely sure where that thought had come from.

"No shit." Emily mumbled, puffing anxiously, and Cook was glad he was usually able to keep his face unreadable.

"Do you want me to be around when you tell her?" he asked suddenly, and the astonishment on her face was obvious. She turned to him, brown eyes wide and… well, beautiful, really, filled with confusion, surprise, and something else he couldn't quite place. Cook had always had a thing for blue-eyed women, so the fact that he thought of her eyes as beautiful was somewhat of a shock.

"Are you fucking serious, Cook?" she asked, and he realized the other thing in her eyes was irritation, and possibly a little bit of anger. "Yeah, that would go over really well. No, I think you should leave at some point today. I'll tell her when she gets home. Tomorrow evening." She said. "This is my mess to clean up; you don't need to be around for it."

Cook felt kind of insulted, really. Was that how she viewed this, as a mess that needed to be cleaned up and essentially erased? "Look," he said after a moment. "It's messy, but it's not really a mess. It's actually pretty cut and dry." He continued, smirking. Emily rolled her eyes.

"How is that, exactly?" she asked, and he grinned at her.

"You like muff and cock, Emilio. And my cock is the one you just happen to fancy at the moment." He knew he'd taken it too far with that last sentence, but couldn't seem to stop himself. He watched as Emily's face turned nearly as red as that sexy mane of hers, watched the outrage in her eyes build, but she said nothing. _I was right. _He told himself, slightly dumbfounded. He had meant it as a joke, mostly.

"Shut your fucking face." She replied, a bit more vehemently than he had been expecting, but it was not altogether undeserved. "I was high, and then when I wasn't high I just didn't want to feel like shit. Which doesn't make any sense, I know, but I'm going to try and explain it to Naomi as best I can, and hope that she forgives me…." She continued speaking, but Cook only barely heard her.

He tried to focus on the words she was saying, but instead found his attention drawn to her lips, which were still slightly swollen from all of the snogging they had done earlier. They were moving, but all he could think about was how soft and sweet they had been against his own, and how kissing the sober Emily of this morning had differed drastically from kissing the fucked-up Emily of the previous night. It had been gentler, even if he did still have half-moon shaped gouges in his upper back from where her nails had dug in relentlessly after things had gone further than kissing.

"Cook?" she had noticed his blank stare and was now waving her hand in front of his face. Cook snapped back to reality, still slightly smiling after the thoughts he'd just entertained. "Cook, did you hear a fucking word I said just now, or were you too busy staring at my tits?" she asked, glaring. He shrugged noncommittally, not indicating whether she was right or wrong, and she let out an infuriated sort of noise, sounding surprisingly like Katie for a moment, before she stood up and crushed her fag out in the grass. "Whatever." She said, clearly annoyed. She brushed grass off of the back of her skirt, and he tried not to stare. "It was stupid, asking you to stay. You should probably go." She said glumly. "I'm going to go inside and… well, I don't know what I'm going to do, but I plan on being very angry at myself for a while."

When she had walked back into the house, Cook lay back down in the grass and looked up at the bluish-grey sky. He had fucked up pretty bad, there was no doubting that. He was fairly certain at this point that Naomi was his best friend- at least his best conscious friend, considering JJ would barely look at him.- and by that logic he had fucked his best friend's girl. The thought was disparaging, to say the least. Cook knew he'd done many things that he wasn't exactly proud of in the span of eighteen years, but he'd never seduced a girl that was exclusively dating his closest mate. This was a first, and he didn't really know what to make of it. He felt awful, though. That much he did know.

Cook stood up, not bothering to brush himself off as Emily had. He strode into the house and didn't find Emily on the first floor of the flat, so he went upstairs and found her collapsed in the middle of the room that was obviously inhabited by her and Naomi. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tears cascaded down her cheeks like miniature waterfalls. She looked so broken, Cook had the sudden urge to rush in there and hold her, to let her cry into his chest and tell her that everything would be all right when they both knew that it wouldn't, but hearing the words would have probably been comforting. Instead, he cleared his throat and she looked up as though she was just now registering his presence.

"I just want to… stop existing." She whispered after a moment of silence had passed between the two of them, her voice sincerely broken and hopeless. It was then that Cook stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he made his way to her, knelt down, and gathered her sobbing form into his arms. He had never felt this bad, not even when he'd punched JJ. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down and let her crawl into his lap, her slender body heaving with sobs as she collapsed into his chest. He pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her back gently, knowing that he was hurting her as much as helping, because even now he couldn't help wanting her, just the tiniest bit, to look up and start snogging the breath out of his lungs. Even now, with her face crumpled up in shame, sniffling and shaking, she was still fucking beautiful. Cook was amazed he hadn't realized it up until now; he'd always assumed that Katie was the hot one, but she honestly couldn't compare to her sister.

_Fuck. _Cook thought to himself, realizing then the implications of what he had been feeling all morning. This hadn't just been a one-night stand, even if he was the only one in the room who realized it at the moment. There had been… passion was too corny of a word, but Cook couldn't come up with anything else to describe what he'd felt when he'd been inside of Emily, her cunt clenching around him, his face buried in her neck as he whispered things that he knew would make her wetter, make her beg him for more. He hadn't just been satisfied with one go, he had been ready to shag all night long. The only other person he'd ever managed to feel that sort of intensity for had been Effy, for fuck's sake.

He gathered her into his arms, pressing her even closer to him, determined that if she was going to break she would do it somewhere safe, where he could watch over her and make sure she didn't do anything stupid.

"I'm not leaving." He whispered softly. "I'm so sorry, Emily…" the apology felt foreign on his tongue, and even though he only half meant it, he knew it was the right thing to say. It seemed to only make her cry harder, though, and before he realized what he was doing, Cook was kissing her forehead, then her cheeks, her tears warm and salty against his mouth and tongue. He felt her stiffen, and then relax. With a giant sniffle, she turned her face to his.

"But…." She began to protest before he kissed her, putting as much of his heart and soul as he could muster into it, trying to give her some sense of comfort in her moment of despair. She didn't respond at first, and then leaned deeper into the kiss, her teeth nibbling his lower lip gently. God, she was sexy, he thought for a split second before she pushed him onto his back. He hit the ground rather hard, and grunted as Emily straddled him and pulled his tank top up over the top of his head and off of his body. Suddenly, she was all over him, her hands wandering over his chest and stomach and sides, her tongue exploring his mouth so eagerly that it surprised him; though he knew it shouldn't have after the previous night's events. After a fairly lengthy snogging session, during which he'd had to try his hardest to keep from shedding more clothes, he grabbed a hold of her arms and forced her to break the kiss. She sat up, still straddling him, obviously surprised.

"You sure you want to do this, Ems?" he asked, measuring his words carefully. "You know what this leads to, at least what it's led to so far."

The look on her face- somewhere between intense pain and intense wanting, would have broken his heart if he'd felt like he had much of one. As it was, he already felt a slight pang of regret for having fueled her predicament even more.

"What, suddenly you don't want me anymore? Like _now _you regret everything? Give me a fucking break, Cook!" her words were angry, harsh and full of pain. Cook physically winced, but knew she was lashing out at him to keep her own pain at bay, and so he let her scream at him. "You build your whole life around living in the moment, not even caring if your moment of fun ruins another person's life! This is entirely your fault!" her body was convulsing with anger by this point; she stumbled as she tried to stand. Her words stung, but they didn't hurt him nearly as much as the pain and rage and desperation in her eyes. "I fucking hate you!" okay, that stung a little bit. She kicked at him, landing a good one right in his ribcage, and Cook stumbled backwards, wheezing slightly because that she'd hit one of the ribs that Foster had broken and it hurt like hell. She seemed not to have noticed. "Get the fuck out!" she kicked him again, this time in the small of his back and he grunted, having not expected this sort of violence.

"Ow! Fuck, Emily, stop!" he groaned when he was finally able to breathe; his chest was on fire, his back was a bit sore, but he managed to stand up. The redhead tried to swing at him, but he caught her wrist easily. When she went to hit him with her other fist he did the same thing. "I mean it. Stop." He said, trying his hardest to keep himself from scaring the hell out of her with his own hidden rage. She didn't need that on top of everything else. Something in her eyes told him she understood, and without warning she embraced him tenderly and began crying again.

"Shhh, shhhh, it's okay…" he whispered, though he knew it was far from okay; he stroked her hair and wrapped his other arm around her. Her knees gave out, and he supported her weight entirely as they both made their way to the ground again. When her sobs became less frequent, Cook knew that she was slowly falling asleep, and so he allowed himself to drift off with her in his arms, swearing sleepily that he would try to help, that he'd figure out a way to fix this.

* * *

"What the FUCK?!" a familiar voice woke him from his slumber. Cook hadn't heard the door open, and by the looks of it neither had Emily, because she bolted upright and turned to face the door before hurriedly scrambling to her feet. Her twin, Katie, stood in the doorway wearing a tight black dress and her signature leopard-print scarf, sunglasses high on top of her head, eyes wide and angry. "Get the fuck off of my sister. Cook, she's fucking GAY for fuck's sake!"

On any other day, the sight of the fuming Fitch twin, with her dress hugging her curves in all the right places, would have received some sort of remark from Cook, but at the moment all he saw was Emily, standing there, trying to explain that she'd gotten drunk and they'd just passed out, that it wasn't a big deal.

"Oh, really?" Katie asked with a smirk, clearly torn between wanting to believe that her sister was at least somewhat straight and wanting to believe that her sister wouldn't cheat on Naomi.

"Fucking eh, really!" Cook piped up, standing. "Ems and I both got shitfaced 'cos I was throwing her a little going away party, and we both just fell over before I could get her to her bed. I may do some stupid things, but I'm not going to try and shag a lesbian!" He tried to back up Emily's story, hoping Katie was convinced. She arched an eyebrow but nodded at him and shot one final glance at Emily before turning around and heading downstairs. He watched as Emily took a few deep breaths, then she turned to him and grimaced.

"I'm not sure if she believed us." She whispered after she was sure Katie was out of earshot. Cook nodded, well aware that the older Fitch twin probably didn't, but if she kept her mouth shut what was it to him? He glanced out the window and saw that the sky had become increasingly cloudy, and sighed.

"Well, I'll probably leave here before the rain hits, don't wanna get soaked trying to find somewhere to sleep tonight, so she won't need to be suspicious for much longer." He said, and couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. He had saved his best mate's life, and then none of his friends would put him up for a night because he was a criminal, or because he'd fucked up so extraordinarily with them that he couldn't stay there any longer. Surprisingly, he felt Emily touch his arm softly, and he turned to look at her. She retracted her hand immediately.

"I want to help you; I want to be able to give you a place to stay, but…" Emily began, looking so forlorn that he almost hugged her again. "Whenever you look at me, there's something… there. And it makes me feel guilty." She explained with a sigh.

"What's there is I can't stop thinking about what a tiger you are in the sack, yeah?" he whispered, and she turned red with embarrassment and a bit of anger again. He really did enjoy how easily he could make her blush, though. She wasn't like Effy, whose stony expression very rarely faded unless she was absolutely off her rails or too high to care. Emily was different, though, she wasn't good at concealing her emotions, and that admittedly turned Cook on quite a bit.

"Piss off." She mumbled, leaving the room without a word and going downstairs to talk to Katie about god-only-knew-what.

"Fuck." Cook muttered to himself, sighing. He was never very great at saying the right thing, had never been good at giving comfort. That was Emily's forte, but he knew that when she was in distress there were very few people around to comfort her. He felt a bit off, all of this wanting and this regret and this care that had welled up within him wasn't normal, wasn't part of the recklessness and calamity that so often spurred his promiscuity. This was the messy type of emotional shit that Cook was always trying to avoid. Only now he couldn't, not with this one, because when he saw Emily in pain and knew that he had played a part in hurting her, all that he wanted to do was make it better, because she'd dedicated so much of her time to helping others who were hurting.

He ran a hand through his hair and headed downstairs, where he could hear the Fitch sisters screaming.

"That outfit doesn't look fucked up enough for you to have slept in for long, is all I'm saying!" Katie's screeching voice was unmistakable, "I mean really, Emily, I'm your fucking twin, you think I don't know when you're lying?" _uh-oh, _Cook thought to himself, making his way down the second half of the stairs as slowly as he could.

"Katie, I've told you a million times, I'm GAY." Emily's voice rang out, sounding quite collected, much to Cook's surprise.

"You might be gay but you jumped off of Cook like something wasn't right!" the older twin retorted, and Cook held his breath. It was true, when Katie had woken the two of them Emily had launched herself off of him like he had been made of hot coals. He strained his ears to hear them speak and sighed; Emily was telling Katie something in the twin-language they sometimes used to avoid anyone overhearing their conversation. He hoped he wasn't telling Katie the truth, he knew she'd never be able to keep this secret for them. After a moment, the sound of a breaking glass filled the entire house, and Cook cringed, nearly certain Emily had told her at least part of the story.

"COOK! Get IN HERE!" Katie roared, and Cook rolled his eyes, trying his best to seem unruffled as he made his appearance in the kitchen. Once he could see the twins, he knew he was in trouble. Emily sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, and Katie was standing in front of the refrigerator, a pile of glass at her feet.

"You gave my sister MDMA and tried to….." Katie sputtered, obviously too horrified to finish the sentence. He glanced at Emily who looked up at him and mouthed 'sorry.' as Katie stepped up and smacked him across the face, something he really hadn't been expecting.

His cheek stung. His ribs still hurt from Emily kicking him earlier, and suddenly Cook was in no mood to put up with everybody else's shit. He felt those familiar demons rise, and knew at that moment it was either leave or blurt out everything. He chose the former option, turning and walking as quickly as he possibly could out of the door, grabbing his coat off of the floor by the door. He thought he heard Emily call after him, but was too angry to register it properly until he was several blocks away. Then, James Cook sat down in an alleyway and, though he'd never admit it to anyone, he tried his hardest not to cry.

* * *

It was hours before Emily found him, well after dark. Cook had decided to spend the night in a playground, since there were no kids out at so late an hour, nursing a bottle of vodka that he'd stolen from a liquor store earlier in the evening. As he sat on one of the swings, eyes bleary and unfocused, he thought about what a wreck his life had become, how the past two years had been nothing but one gigantic sodding mess, how no matter how hard he tried everything seemed to come crashing down in one way or another.

He was so lost in thought, Cook didn't notice when a familiar redheaded girl sat down on the swing beside him until she spoke.

"Hi," she said, her tone entirely unsure. He looked up with a start, meeting her apologetic eyes with his own hurt-filled ones.

"The fuck do you want?" he asked, slurring slightly. Emily raised an eyebrow and he fought the urge to touch her face. "Y'know, you didn't have to look for me. I'm Cook. I can take care of myself." He continued, not waiting for her to answer his question.

"Obviously." She stated, and no matter how much alcohol he'd consumed he could tell when she was being sarcastic. He took a large gulp out of the mostly-empty bottle and set it down, careful not to spill it. She lit a fag, and Cook was caught off guard when she snatched the bottle of vodka off of the ground and took a hearty drink of it, herself.

"Shouldn't be doing that. Might end up willy-wagglin' again." He laughed a bit more loudly than he'd intended to, then took the bottle back from her gruffly. "Mine." He said when she didn't respond, taking another drink. "Go steal yer own booze."

"Cook…" she said, her voice pleading and angry and confused all at once, and he suddenly found himself flashing back to the sound of her breathing his name into his ear, he could practically feel her breath on his skin…

"I don't wanna hear it, Emilio. You… you need to take responsibility for your actions, mate." He said quickly, stumbling over the word 'responsibility' multiple times in the process. "'Cause I might be a right tosser sometimes, but I didn't molest you or anything. You wanted it too, yeah?" he took another drink and this time passed the bottle to her, forgetting that he'd taken it from her in the first place. She took a drink, made a face, and handed it back to him.

"You're right." She finally said after a bit. "I shouldn't have let Katie think that. It was unfair to you. I was… I was scared." Something in her eyes changed as soon as she said that, Cook noticed. A faint glimmer of something he couldn't quite recognize, and he couldn't find the words to ask her what had happened in that instant.

"What're you scared of, Ems?" he asked, sounding more demanding than he'd anticipated. "You're Emily Fitch. You're young, you're confident, you're fucking sexy and if Naomi lets you go because you made a mistake than that's her loss, right?" Cook felt as though he was no longer in control of his words, the alcohol had erased the last of his current give-a-fuck, and he continued. "Everybody fucks up, Ems. It's the people who admit it that are worth holding on to." He paused, looking up at her, and saw that her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "Fuck, I didn't mean to make you cry!" he exclaimed, jumping up suddenly and crushing her against him in a massive bear hug. "Come here, you."

For a few moments they stood there, him holding her in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, Emily holding him because she wasn't certain how much longer it would be before the alcohol made his legs give way. All that he could think of as she stood there in his arms was how crazy the past twenty-four hours had been, but how he wouldn't do anything differently even if he'd had the chance. Cook knew that Emily didn't think of it like that, knew that if she had been given a do-over she would have avoided everything that had happened between them. The thought made him feel like his guts were twisted up in knots, and he really didn't like that feeling. Not knowing what else to do, he let go of her.

"You should go back home." He whispered to her, and he couldn't read her expression because he was too fucked up to be this close to her without falling into those eyes and wondering what it would be like to just pick her up and start kissing her again. At the thought, Cook stepped back, nearly falling over the swing he had been sitting on in the process. "Really Emily. Go home." He reiterated when her brow furrowed with worry, the thought that concern really was rather cute on her popping into his head, uninvited.

"Cook, come on, let's go back to Naomi's place and just… you can sleep it off, okay?" she asked, and the part of Cook that was still hurting nearly laughed at how frantic her voice sounded.

"Emilio, you and I both know that if I go back to yours we're not going to be doing much sleeping." He said off-handedly, noticing the way she flinched after the sentence had left his mouth and hating that he could wound her with the memory of what had happened. "Just go home before I do something you'll regret." He said after she crossed her arms over her chest. At that, she looked up at him, surprised.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Cook?" she asked, her tone demanding and slightly shaky. Cook smirked. He felt the onslaught of confidence that came and went the more that he drank flooding his body and stepped forward.

"I think you know." He stated plainly, and he thought he saw a spark of fear flicker in her dark eyes as he took another step towards her, but she didn't back away.

"You don't regret what happened?" she asked him suddenly, sounding small and confused. He shrugged in response.

"The Cookie Monster never regrets anything, remember?" he asked, and he felt a familiar fire start up in his core as she turned a delightful shade of pink. "I'm reckless, fuckin' shameless, right Ems?" he asked, keeping his tone low and clearing the rest of the space between them. He didn't know if it was his vision playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that he saw her shudder slightly, and it was wonderful, knowing that he had that sort of power. He ran a hand down her arm and she grabbed his hand with her other one.

"Cook, this is wrong!" she exclaimed, going to take her hand back. He wouldn't let her, couldn't let her go, and instead pulled her against him, suddenly desperate to ignite the spark that had so carelessly developed between the two of them. He could see through her fear, he knew that her eyes now saw him in a completely different way, and it was enticing. Without giving it another thought, he pressed Emily tightly up against him and brought his lips to hers for what had to be the millionth time since the night before. He felt her stiffen, then relax as their mouths searched one another's hungrily, looking for answers that they knew wouldn't be there when they pulled away.

"Why do we keep _doing _that?!" Emily nearly screamed once his lips had released hers. Her face was flushed, her lips were trembling, and Cook couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his face. She eyed him, clearly enraged at the both of them. "It's like… like I keep forgetting Naomi for these little moments… with you, of all people!" Cook tried not to take offense, hoping that she meant that more because he was a man and not because he was…how had Katie put it? Oh yes, repulsive. He shrugged, sitting back down on the swing and swilling the last of his vodka. He let out a hearty, drunk burp.

"Don't know, babes. Just happens I guess." He said, as though what was going on between then didn't shake him to his core, as though he was the Cook that everyone thought he was, cold and careless. "You gonna go now?" he asked her, trying his hardest not to follow up his question with 'please don't.' She must have seen it in his eyes or something, he figured, because she sat back down beside him and crushed the end of her cigarette out on the gravel with the toe of her shoe. Wordlessly, she pulled a spliff out of her purse and lit it, then passed it to him.

They sat there in the dark, passing the spliff back and forth and not talking much until finally Emily invited her back to her- well, Naomi's- place. When she touched his arm, he knew that at that moment she didn't want to shag, she just wanted to feel less alone. That worked for him. Throwing an arm around her shoulders both for balance and to feel close to her- because at that moment he needed closeness just as much as she did- , the two walked back to Naomi's flat.

When she set him up in the spare bed, he wasn't at all surprised.

When she sidled in next to him a bit later, wearing underwear and a large t-shirt, and threw her arm around him so that they could hold one another, he was a bit surprised, but soon, as her breathing became steadier, more even, he began to fall asleep, and for the night their worries were forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4: Cook

The next morning, Cook awoke fully clothed, with his arms wrapped around Emily, who was still in her pajamas. He was confused for a moment until he had remembered what had happened over the past two nights. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table; it was nearly noon, they'd practically slept the morning away.

It had been a long time since Cook had woken up with a woman curled up beside him after _not _having shagged her the night before. Actually, once he thought about it, he realized that had probably never happened before. He gently slipped his arm out from under her so that he wouldn't wake her up, then got out of the bed and headed downstairs for a smoke. He didn't usually like to think about complicated things- everyone knew how he had tried avoiding the rivalry that had formed between him and Freddie over Effy- but this was something that needed to be thought about for a good long while.

He lit his fag once he was out the back door, shielding his eyes because they hadn't yet adjusted to the brightness of the day, and he realized he may have actually been a bit hungover. Cook took a deep drag and exhaled a steady stream of bluish smoke, his mind sluggishly trying to process things. Like the way that Emily told him how badly she'd felt about cheating on Naomi, and then how thirty minutes later they had proceeded to shag long into the night. That was women for you, though, he supposed; unable to make up their minds, afraid of getting hurt or- in Emily's case- hurting anyone else. Cook knew that, but he was still frustrated by it, if only because he'd never figured that Emily would ever be the type of person to manipulate anybody. That was exactly what she was doing, whether she realized it or not.

Cook sighed, sitting down in the grass and mulling over what he was going to do. He could leave before Emily woke up, skip town and not show his face in Bristol for a few months. Or, he could leave the flat and stay in town, biding his time while he waited for Naomi to find him and tear him a new one. Then there was the third option, which was to stay around and wait for everything to inevitably explode. He grimaced, none of these choices sounded very appealing, but he had to pick one.

He decided that he couldn't leave Emily alone, not unless she wanted him to go, and even then he wasn't entirely sure if he could just abandon her to confess to something that they had done together. It wasn't fair, and although Cook was careless- sometimes to the point of being cruel- he did have a sense of honor. No, he thought, leaving had never even been a possibility worth entertaining.

Cook took another long drag off of his fag, and heard footsteps padding softly against the grass. He turned in time to see Emily sit down beside him, and he couldn't help but take note of the way the large t-shirt that she had slept in rode up her bare thigh as she did so. He offered her one of his smokes, which she gladly accepted and they sat in silence for a bit, very much like the previous night only Cook was no longer drunk.

"Some past couple of nights, eh?" he finally spoke, trying to sound like his ordinarily jaunty self. Emily snorted and lay down in the grass, he could see the seam of her pale green panties for a split second before Emily caught him staring and pulled the shirt down a ways. She shot him a look and he glanced away.

"I don't want to tell her." Emily suddenly blurted out, and Cook blinked a few times.

"What?" he asked, just to clarify that he'd heard her correctly.

"I don't want to tell her." Emily repeated, confirming what he had heard before. He stared blankly at her for a moment and she continued. "She didn't tell me about Sophia until after the girl killed herself, for fuck's sake. If it hadn't been for my own detective work she probably would have never told me." She said sharply, and Cook knew that she was probably correct.

"That doesn't mean you need to hide this from her, Emilio. Come on, you're not thinking straight." He said, "No pun intended, of course." He amended his statement just as she started to chuckle, then a sad look overtook her facial features, and all of a sudden she looked like she was going to cry.

"That's just it, Cook. I'm not straight, not in the slightest bit. I like women. I love Naomi." She said softly, and he felt each word nearly pound into his body like nails into a coffin. He grinned at her, trying to mask the emotion that almost felt like sadness.

"Come on Ems, we got It on even when you were level-headed! You loved it!" he exclaimed, having very little idea as to why he was protesting this so much. It just felt wrong, he told himself, her keeping this from Naoms. Emily grimaced, her dark eyes staring him down, warning him to drop it.

"I love Naomi. This isn't something that she needs to know about. It would only hurt her." She said decidedly, taking a drag off of her cigarette. Cook arched an eyebrow; he'd worn a mask for most of his life, he knew when somebody had created one to keep things like guilt from surfacing.

"It'll eventually break you down, you know. That fire." He said after a moment, slowly inhaling smoke and letting it drift away into the building breeze.

She rolled over to lie on her side and looked up at him, a curious look on her face. For a moment, his eyes scanned the length of her body and he knew he'd miss her when she was away, not just for physical reasons. She was Emily, when she got too high and giggled a lot it made everyone else around her laugh. She attempted to lighten the mood in her own, soft way when everyone was hungover and irritated. She had surprised him by wanting him back, he hadn't even known he'd wanted her until she'd started dancing next to him, and he _knew _there was something there, in that moment. And it was just going to be gone. His head was spinning.

"The guilt you're feeling." He explained carefully, after his brief moment of confusing introspection. "You think you've got it under control for a while, and then suddenly something will crack your wall for just long enough for it to leak in, right? And then it breaks you down, so slowly you barely even notice it until you can't look at yourself in the mirror anymore. Or, if you're like me, it comes out all at once and scares the piss out of everyone." He added with a small smirk. Emily laughed softly at that, then leaned back and smoked for a minute before answering.

"I think that I can manage." She finally stated, and Cook noticed that she sounded unsure, but he didn't say anything. If she really believed that it wasn't going to eat away at her, who knew? Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she and Naomi would be together for the rest of their lives and Emily would be able to keep this tremendous secret from her for that entire time. Cook didn't know for certain, nobody could. That didn't keep him from worrying, but it definitely kept his worry from showing.

"If you're strong enough for it, Emilio." He said, somewhat quietly. "Just don't let it destroy you, yeah?" he asked, unable to hold back the concern in his voice. She looked at him strangely.

"Right." She murmured. Cook took the last drag of his cigarette and crushed it out; barely aware of the way he stubbed out the cherry with his fingertip. What did a burn matter? Everybody was still pissing on old' Cook, even if they didn't realize it. He smiled at Emily, trying to push back the angry feelings building up inside of him.

"In that case, I should go, then." He stated, stretching. "If you're not going to say anything to Naoms, then me sticking around wouldn't do either of us any good." He said, sounding wearier than he'd intended. Emily stood, flicking the remainder of her fag down and smashing it into the grass with her foot. She winced, and he thought about asking if her foot was all right but resisted the urge, knowing that his caring would probably irritate her.

"Yeah, that would probably be a good idea." She nodded and strode back inside. "Did you leave anything upstairs?" she asked. Cook thought about it and shook his head. "Well, you know your way out. I'm going to get dressed."

Her dismissal was so abrupt that Cook was momentarily taken aback, but he saw through that mask, too, the mask of not caring, and it scared him. It scared him because he didn't want her to lose that kindness towards everybody that made her, well, _her_.

"Right, doll. Cheers, then?" he walked over and made an attempt to hug her, but she coldly turned away and headed up the stairs.

"Yeah, right. Cheers." She echoed, her voice harsh and unyielding. Cook shrugged, trying his hardest to suppress the urge to hit something. There went his friendship with Emily, suddenly more than friendship and then- equally as suddenly- gone like they had never been friends to begin with. He didn't want it to happen, but if that was what Emily wanted to do, it wasn't like he could stop her.

He picked his coat up off of the couch, where he'd shed it the night before in his drunken stupor, and walked out the door, giving the staircase one last forlorn glance before leaving the flat and lighting another fag.

* * *

Cook continued walking through Bristol, chain smoking his cigarettes and thinking about the past few days in a way he'd rarely thought about anything. He knew that he'd fucked up, shagging Emily like that, but it had almost been involuntary; a part of him had known it was wrong, but a much greater part of him was stunned by how right it felt. Just the memory of her body beneath his, of her hot breath on his neck right before she'd bitten down and made him see sparks behind his eyelids, made him shudder.

"You really should get a thicker coat." A familiar voice behind him called out. Cook spun around to find Effy leaning against the side of a video shop, smoking a cigarette.

"Yeah?" he asked, lighting a new fag with the remnants of the one that had just been in his mouth "Why's that?"

"You looked cold." She said with that faint Effy smirk, the one that told him she noticed everything whether he wanted her to or not.

"Maybe a bit." He admitted after a moment, taking a deep inhale. "How's Freds?" he asked quietly. Effy nodded.

"Still not awake. But the doctors say he shows sign of…improved brain activity." She said, lips twisting wryly in a way that would have made most other women look ugly. "So I guess I'm out celebrating…" she trailed off, and Cook put an arm around her slender shoulders to comfort her. It felt kind of awkward, he noted silently.

"He'll keep getting better, Eff. He knows you're there, he knows Karen's there, and he knows I'd be there if I could." Cook tried to sound reassuring, but knew his words fell flat. He also knew that Effy appreciated the intent behind them, even if she only stared at him wistfully while taking another drag off of her smoke.

"What's new with you, then?" she asked him, voice reverting back to its usual calm tone. "You seem... less happy." He noticed that she had trouble finding the right words, and he grinned widely at her.

"I'm always happy, Effs, dunno what you're talking about!" he exclaimed, letting her go and spinning around. "I'm fuckin' Cook, the world is at my fingertips!" he yelled to nobody in particular. Effy smirked again, her eyes telling him that she still knew that something wasn't quite right. She flicked the remainder of her fag against the wall of the building and grabbed his hand.

"Well, whatever's bothering you, let's forget our troubles for an evening, yeah? Like before?" it was the most she'd said to him in weeks, Cook thought to himself, so he found it ironic that his desire to spend time with Effy didn't even begin to measure up to how badly he wanted to walk back over to Naomi's flat. Since he couldn't do that, Cook nodded. _Fuck it, _he thought to himself, he could get shitfaced with Effy and have a good time without Emily, he'd done it before.

The two of them ventured to a park on the edge of town, thankfully this time there was no playground in sight, and Effy pulled a bottle of tequila out of her purse while Cook took a spliff from his pocket and lit it. "Sure you should be doing that with your meds?" he asked her when she took a giant swig off of the bottle. Effy shrugged.

"Once in a while won't do much." She said, reaching out for the spliff. He handed it to her in exchange for the tequila and took a swig, thinking off-handedly about how tequila was Emily's favorite alcohol. He sat down on the grassy knoll and watched the joggers on the path, Effy sat beside him.

"So do you want to talk about it?" she asked finally, sounding like she could care less either way. Cook shrugged.

"I shagged a bird, I thought it might have been something else, she loves somebody else." He explained in a very edited fashion. "Story of my fuckin' life, eh?" he laughed as the irony hit him and, although he could tell she didn't want to, Effy couldn't help but chuckle.

"That is…quite ironic, Cook." She agreed "You're sure you can't get the girl this time?" to his surprise there was an underlying hint of curiosity within her words. He shrugged and lay down in the grass, taking the spliff from her and handing her back the booze.

"Don't think it's possible. Never is though, not for me." He took a hit off of the spliff and coughed when the smoke infiltrated his lungs. "It was a moment, though. A wild fucking moment. She was a right animal." He smiled at Effy. "Reminds me of how someone else used to be."

Effy snorted. "Don't go drawing too many comparisons between me and your mystery woman. I'm sure she's suited better for you than I ever was." She said wryly. At that, Cook burst into a fit of laughter.

"Fucking priceless, Effs." He said with a smirk. She looked at him somewhat expectantly, like she thought he was really going to elaborate on who he'd been shagging. He shook his head. "Nah, I can't tell you."

"Hmm…" Effy said softly, taking another drink of tequila, not pressing the issue any further. He was glad that she could just accept his refusal to tell her instead of pressing him for details. In that way, Effy was definitely not your typical woman. In all other ways, though, she was about as typical as you could get in Cook's eyes.

They stayed in the park until it began to get dark, at which point Effy suggested they dance their worries away in a club. Although Cook wasn't in much of a clubbing mood, he put forced his largest smile to surface and swallowed back sadness with a hearty "Fuck yeah, let's go dancing!"

* * *

He was confused, and slightly drunk, by the time he and Eff arrived at their destination- amazingly enough, the same club he had taken Emily to. He stared at the door to the club for a while, thinking about everything that had happened the last time he had decided to come here. Effy didn't seem to notice his hesitation and gave a sultry smirk to the bouncer, who nodded at Cook after recognizing him, and let the pair of them in.

The music was good; it was hard rock instead of the dubstep he'd danced to with Emily. The flashing lights, the surroundings, everything else were still the same. He headed up to the bar with Effy and ordered himself a double shot of the strongest vodka they had, then ordered the same for Effy. Her eyebrows shot up when he handed her the shotglass, but she raised it up anyway.

"Cheers. To healing." She said, looking at him pointedly before drinking down the vodka. Cook took his shot in stride.

"Fucking petrol, yeah?" he asked her once his tongue was finished burning from the alcohol. Effy nodded and they ordered two more shots each before they made their way to the dance floor, the way that they used to. Except everything was different now, Cook thought, a strange feeling making itself at home in his stomach. Effy had made up her mind; she had chosen Freddie over Cook. Not that he blamed her; really, the man had been willing to die for her. The only word that he had heard Freddie say before he'd called for help had been her name, garbled and foreign-sounding through a mouthful of blood.

So no, he had no problem with Effy's decision at all. He wanted Freddie to wake up, to see how much she loved him and know that she was never going to leave him again. For himself, though, Cook wanted something entirely different.

He tried to focus on the way that Effy's lithe body was swaying to the music, the way that she was moving closer to him, how her dark hair cascaded down past her shoulders, glinting softly beneath the blacklght. She danced in circles around him, bringing herself just close enough for their bodies to press against one another every now and then. Only for an instant, though. This was classic Effy, he thought, never giving anybody all of her at once. Maybe that was what had attracted him to Emily, he thought warily, the fact that she wasn't afraid to be vulnerable. Somehow that gave her strength, and that strength was beautiful.

Cook had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd failed to realize that Effy was now dancing in front of him, grinding onto his leg. He gripped her hips, tried to enjoy it as she snaked her way closer to him, tossing her head back and exposing her neck, holding firmly onto his shoulders. She was beautiful, but he knew deep down that she would always remain unattainable, in a way. He tried to draw her closer to him, just to see how she would react. She chuckled slightly, and then smoothly slithered out of his grasp, her blue eyes meeting his own and saying the words neither of them could, that their time had passed and it was time to move on to less destructive relationships.

For the first time all day, Cook genuinely smiled at her. He knew what he had to do.

"Excuse me, Eff, I have to go." He said, dancing around her and making his way out of the crowd. As he left her there, he could have sworn that he had heard her say something.

It had sounded like "Go get her."

Cook exited the club and glanced around downtown Bristol, not sure where he would find what he was looking for but determined to find it nevertheless. It was a cool night, so he slung his coat on and headed on down the street. A few blocks later, he spied the correct building, but when he got a bit closer, a middle-aged woman turned the Open sign in the front window to the closed position. When he got to the door, she had turned away. He knocked, and she turned around.

The lady looked him up and down suspiciously, like he was going to mug her or something. Great.

"Look, I just want to buy something, yeah?" he shouted, hopefully loud enough for her to hear. She arched an eyebrow, then after a moment she opened the door.

"For a girl?" her accent was thick, he thought it sounded Irish. He nodded, and she stepped aside. Then it hit Cook; he had no idea what kinds of flowers she liked. _Fuck. _He thought to himself, glancing around at all of the available options. The woman must have noticed his confused expression- and maybe smelled the alcohol on his breath- so she smiled.

"What's her favorite color?" she asked after he'd stood there a moment.

"Dunno." Cook said with a shrug. "Didn't even realize I could want to give a girl flowers til today." He admitted, feeling his face heat up.

"Well, what does she like?" the florist asked. He didn't really like how she was pressing for information; he needed to get to Naomi's flat before Naomi did.

"Girls, mostly." He answered her question with a wry smile on his face. "And shagging me." He added after a moment. The look on the woman's face was everything he had been hoping for and more. She left him to browse through flowers and he finally decided on three orange flowers- because three was all he could pay for. The florist slipped a fourth in for free.

"Orange lilies, good choice." She commented with a small smile.

"What d'ya mean?" he asked, confused.

"They stand for passion." She stated, handing him the flower selection. "Thank you for your business." Cook had to hand it to her, even though she looked somewhat shocked by his earlier admission, she was still polite. Nice bird, this florist. If he ever bought another girl flowers, he thought he might buy them from her shop again.

Cook left the flower shop slightly drunk and feeling more determined than ever, his meager bouquet in one hand and a spliff in the other. He told himself that his plan was insane, that it would never work, but he still headed in the direction of her residence, still managed to force his feet to walk to the Campbell house.

* * *

When he got there, Cook stood outside for a few minutes, smoking a fag nervously and trying to tell himself that this was not a good idea, that he'd walked all this way to just get shit on because that's all anybody had ever done to him. Why would she listen to him? He was Cook, womanizer, party animal, _murderer, _and she was… she was Emily. Emily. The girl who always tried to heal the wounded, who'd never asked for any help when she'd had her heart practically ripped open by her first love. Emily, with her sweet smile, longing glances, and unique empathy… and her love for muff, of course. He couldn't very well forget that.

This was the girl he was trying to woo. It made no absolutely no sense, and that is why he was still trying to convince himself that he had lost his sodding mind when a voice rang out clearly from the upstairs window.

"Cook?" he looked up and saw her, standing beside the open window, looking shocked and confused. He couldn't think of anything to do other than grin.

"Hey, Ems, I'm coming up, yeah?" he said. Before he lost his nerve, Cook had walked into the house, closing the unlocked door behind him, and made his way up the stairs, clutching the flowers as if they were a life preserver and he was afloat on a sea of turbulent emotion.

When he made his way to the upstairs bedroom, he saw her standing by the now-closed window, dressed in pyjama shorts and the same t-shirt as earlier. Her hair was still a mess, her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and Cook still thought she was gorgeous.

"Emily, I…" he paused, not sure what to say, and she eyed the flowers in his hand.

"Those…" she choked on the word and cleared her throat in order to continue. "Those flowers…."

"Are for you." He confirmed, handing them to her. She looked up at him, and there was so much pain and fear in her eyes that he found himself questioning whether or not flowers had been a step too far. He took a deep breath. "They mean passion, Emilio Passion. Like what we have."

She blinked a few times, he could tell that she was trying to comprehend what he was saying. She stared at the flowers and smiled sadly. "Cook, they're lovely, but-"

"I know you love her, okay? I get that. Cookie gets it, he's always second best. I know." He said, interrupting her and daring to step a bit closer to her. She was silent, so he continued. "I also know that there's one thing I can do that she can't. And I'm not talking about any sorta willy-waggling."

"Then what are you talking about, Cook, because you're making very little fucking sense and I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here!" she exclaimed, clearly somewhat exasperated. Cook knew he had to get to the point. He took another deep breath, bracing himself.

"If you stayed, and we were together, I sure as hell wouldn't be afraid to tell anybody how much I loved you." There. The words were out, he looked at her and she wasn't slapping him, so that was a good sign. No, instead he was staring at him, a curious look in her dark eyes.

"And do you?" she asked after a moment had passed. He knew what she was asking, but had to make sure.

"Do I what?"

"Love me?" her voice was small, the words barely a whisper as they left her lips. He could see an odd mixture of emotions trying to work themselves out in her eyes, resulting in tears slowly shimmering towards the surface. Fuck, he hadn't wanted her to cry.

The sound of a car door slamming outside interrupted their tender moment, and Emily jumped, biting her lip and looking at him. "They're-"

No sooner had she gotten the first word out, he'd just gone for it. He grabbed her and kissed her for all it was worth. For a moment she responded by biting on his lower lip and drawing it into her mouth, letting his tongue explore hers for just a few seconds. Then the moment was over and she separated her mouth from his and pulled away, clearly panicked.

"Shit, the flowers! What do I do about the flowers? And you're here! And…"

Cook sighed, shaking his head and watching her.

"Give her the flowers." He finally said. "She's the one you love anyway, it doesn't matter how I feel about you, does it?" it wasn't a question and they both know it, so she simply doesn't respond. Instead, she led Cook out of the bedroom, through the hallway, and down the stairs. After a moment Naomi opened the door, a single backpack on her back. She smiled when she saw Cook, and then her smile grew wider when she saw Emily extending the lilies towards her shyly. Cook felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, when he saw that smile and realized that was the only smile Emily cared about, and it was probably the only smile Emily ever would care about. He watched as Naomi dropped her backpack and ran in to embrace Emily, careful not to crush the flowers. Emily ran a hand through Naomi's hair, and he swore that he could see it tremble slightly as it worked its way through the blonde waves. When they kissed, he had to look away. He could feel the guilt settling in, and it bothered him.

"So what're you doing here, Cook?" Naomi asked him. Emily's smile was surprisingly steady when she answered for him.

"He needed somewhere to stay, so he slept on the couch last night. He forgot his coat, so he came back." Her response was a bit too rushed, but Naomi didn't seem to notice, and for that Cook was grateful.

"Besides," he chimed in, trying his hardest to grin at Naomi while she kissed Emily on the cheek. "I had to come by and say farewell to two of my best mates before they head off to Mexico. Drink a shit ton of tequila there for me, right girls?" He stepped in and hugged them both, making sure that the arm he had around Emily was a bit tighter than the one around Naomi. He let go of the two of them and stepped back. "Now, I need to make up for lost time." He shot Emily a pointed look, and she glanced down at the floor. "Have fun, my favorite lezzies!"

At that, both girls laughed, but while Naomi's laugh was soft and kind, Emily's was tinged with sarcasm and sadness. Cook walked out of the flat, passing Naomi's mother as she made her way up the walkway with a cigarette in her mouth.

"Come to see them off?" she asked, voice slightly muffled from around the fag.

"Already did, Gina. Wished them the best of luck, actually." He smiled, and hoped that she couldn't see the sadness in his eyes. She hugged him, and he felt the cigarette burn some of his hair but didn't say anything.

"It's all right, Freddie will wake up." She said with a slow smile. "You just have to think positively, and the things that you need come to you when the time is right."

As Cook watched her walk into her home, Cook wondered if that was really true. He decided that it probably wasn't, because the things he needed never seemed to be there when he needed them the most. He took another spliff out of his coat pocket and, right then and there, decided that he was going to get as fucked up as possible and try to forget about all of the awful feelings rushing through him.

He found Effy sitting outside of the club by herself, smoking a fag, obviously high on something. When she saw him, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Didn't get her, did you?" she asked and he shook his head.

"I tried, Eff. I really fucking tried." He said, sitting down next to her and cradling his head in his hands morosely. He felt Effy's hand on his back. It was nice, comforting, exactly what he needed. The two of them sat there in silence, not doing anything other than watching cars pass, and Cook knew that he would have to find a way to put Emily behind him for good. He just didn't know how.


End file.
